


Chaos and a Dash of Carpentry, Please

by tklivory



Series: The Further Adventures of Dailana Cousland [4]
Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Dramedy, F/M, Humor, M/M, Multi, Parody
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-26
Updated: 2012-07-26
Packaged: 2017-11-10 18:27:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/469324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tklivory/pseuds/tklivory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>And lo, it came to pass that the Cousland of Retribution did come unto the Village of the Red Cliffe. Can’t say there was much rejoicing...</p>
    </blockquote>





	Chaos and a Dash of Carpentry, Please

**Author's Note:**

> And lo, it came to pass that the Cousland of Retribution did come unto the Village of the Red Cliffe. Can’t say there was much rejoicing...

Zevran stood on the escarpment overlooking Redcliffe Village, trying to find something to admire in the rather unimpressive little Fereldan town below.  _At least it is outside and in the fresh air,_ he mused.  After the many days and weeks of being in the Deep Roads and Orzammar, he was rather grateful for that fact.  _Although I am still trying to decide what is worse: the smell of garbage and Mabari that hangs like a miasma above Ferelden, or the stench of Darkspawn and spider dens in the depths of the Deep Roads._

Next to him stood the red-haired bard, also ostensibly regarding the view, although Zevran had a few suspicions of his own, based on her slightly unfocused gaze and the intense argument occurring behind them between their fearless leader and her fellow Warden.  “Quite an impressive view, yes?” he asked in a mild tone of voice.

“What?” she asked, a bit startled.  “Oh, I mean... Yes, quite lovely.”  There was a faint tinge of pink on her cheeks to have been caught eavesdropping.  “The Lake is beautiful even from up here.  I know a few stories about Lake Calenhad, actual--”

From behind them came a rather explosive sound of frustration.  “Bee tee _em,_ why didn’t you _tell_ me?”

Zevran and Leliana exchanged a startled look.  Usually only Sten - or, recently, Oghren - managed to get that level of volume out of the blond Warden, and certainly never _Alistair_.  They fell silent as both of them strove to appear as if they were ignoring the argument while at the same time avidly listening to every word.

Alistair’s voice was apologetic, placating.  “I would have told you, but--”  His explanation was abruptly cut off, the sound of a drawn blade ringing in the air.  “Um, Dailana?  Is that... truly necessary?”

Leliana obviously couldn’t stand it anymore and turned to intervene.  “Dailana,” she said in a placating tone of voice, and gently laid a hand on the blade that rested against Alistair’s neck and forced him to stand on his tiptoes.  “I’m sure there’s no need for blades.  Perhaps you could... think about...”  She trailed off when the cerulean gaze turned on her.  “I’ll-- I’ll leave you two to your discussion, then,” Leliana gulped, fleeing the situation to return to Zevran’s side.

_“Coward,”_ Zevran teased with a grin.  “Let me show you a _true_ master at work.”  With a confident wink, he turned and sauntered to Dailana’s side.  “Come, come, my dear, _surely_ there are better things to occupy your hands with than a _cold_ blade,” he said, lightly tracing his fingers along her arm, ignoring the taut tension of her marvelous muscles.  “The view from up here is magnificent, and there appears to be--”  He stopped as he felt a cold line of metal, and it was _not_ against his neck.  Quickly rising to his tiptoes, he coughed and said in a slightly elevated tone, “Ah.  I see.  Well, I will leave you to your... talk, then.”  Carefully he stepped away from the blade, very much aware that his nights... and mornings... and well, some afternoons - and perhaps evenings as well - would be vastly different if he didn’t take the proper care to avoid her well-maintained weapon. __

Once free of the metal menace, he scurried back to the amused Leliana’s side.  “Don’t say _anything._ ”

She blinked innocently at him.  _“I?”_   Her lips twitched with suppressed laughter.  “Surely you don’t think _I_ would have _any_ comment on the work of a _true_ master.”  Her blue eyes danced with mirth.  _“Especially_ when it proves to be _so_ successful, no?”

Zevran stamped away, muttering to himself and ignoring the giggling behind him, only peripherally aware of the fact that Alistair had managed to talk Dailana into lowering her blade.  Only when he heard a sound slap did he turn to see Dailana storm away in a rather dazzling tizzy, heading towards the bridge that led to the village and leaving behind an Alistair with a suspiciously red cheek.  He raised an eyebrow towards the ex-Templar, receiving a rueful grin in return, before running after her, hoping to protect the innocent from his lovely leader when she was in a snit.

Sure enough, she had found someone to sulk at rather loudly.  Dashing up, he gently eased her back a couple of steps from the terrified lad that seemed to be guarding the way.  “Now, now, my dear, perhaps we should, ah, wait for the others.”

The lad cowered a bit behind his upraised hands.  “Please, I only wanted to know if you’d come to help!  Bann Teagan--”

As the other members of their little party caught up with them, Dailana suddenly stopped struggling against Zevran and looked at the ill-armed archer.  “Bann Teagan?”  The lad nodded, hesitantly.  That big, beautiful smile that made Zevran... well, honestly, that made _most_ men not made of stone swallow and start thinking about _things they wanted to do to her_ \- as the lad was obviously doing now, despite his scare - spread across her face. She moved closer to the young man, putting her arms on his shoulders almost intimately as her tongue emerged to moisten her lips.  “Will you take us to the bodacious Bann?  I would be, like, so _totally_ grateful, ya know?”

Zevran chuckled as the lad lost his fear and gained something else, forcing him to quickly turn and walk away in that familiar hunched-over fashion that Dailana was so skilled at producing, either with her smile or her knee.  Dailana followed him, practically bouncing with happiness as she did so, which, given the nature of her short armor, granted Zevran quite a nice view of her--

A staff hit him on the head, none too lightly.  “Hey!” he shouted, glaring at the completely serene Morrigan.

“My apologies, I thought I saw a fly.”  Smoothly the witch walked past him, though Zevran did _not_ watch _her_ swaying hips - one night in an icy tent was _quite_ enough, thank you.  “‘Twas only a band of fleas leaving your overheated, underutilized brain.”

Though he couldn’t glare at the witch, he _did_ glare at Leliana as she passed him by, still giggling, leaving him to walk beside Alistair.  “Ah, my friend,” he said morosely, “it is a good thing that sex is such a marvelous thing.  Oh,” he said, glancing at the now completely red Warden, “my apologies.  I forgot that you had not yet _indulged_.”  Waving a hand to override the obvious protest, he observed, “My dear Alistair, I can smell purity a mile away, and this close it is rather cloying.  Would you like me to arrange something for you with a nice, buxom barmaid?  It would be the work of but a few minutes, with a handsome fellow like you.  Or, of course, _I_ could--”

“Ah, no!  Thank you!  I’ll, uh, I’ll just...”  The poor man finally gave up and bolted ahead, careless of whether or not Dailana was still angry at him.  Obviously _anything_ was better than a discussion with Zevran about _that_.

Feeling much better, Zevran trotted down the hill, heading towards the large building that Dailana had just entered.  _Perhaps this will be a good day after all._

.~^~.

A few minutes later, he was feeling far less positive about the whole prospect of a _good day_.  It hadn’t helped that, when he first entered the Chantry, he’d been pushed aside by the now completely oblivious lad that had led Dailana there, mind and hand obviously intending to find some time _alone_ no matter what else needed to be done.  Frowning, he had moved to the front of the church in time to see a rather distinguished, well-dressed nobleman stare incredulously at his lovely leader (and lover) and stammer, “D-Dailana?”  Honestly, though, the true low point had been when she squealed like a little girl, tripped up to him, and hauled him down for a thorough and - need it be said? - _deep_ kiss, careless of anyone who saw.

“Bee tee _em,_ I’ve missed you, my Bannhammer,” she purred in that sultry sex-kitten voice of hers when she finally relented.  “It’s been, ya know, too _long_ since you nailed me to a--”

As Alistair broke into a fierce bout of coughing, the man - obviously this Bann Teagan their guide had spoken of - blushed as fiery a red as Alistair was currently sporting and hastily interrupted her.  “Ah, yes, well... perhaps this isn’t the _best_ time to...  What I mean is, Redcliffe is... That is, monsters have--”  He gently pushed her away, though (Zevran noticed with a critical eye) he _did_ let his hands linger on her bare waist.  “We can... catch up with each other later, my dear.  Redcliffe faces true evil right now, and I am sad to say that it is your skill with your blades I need most at present.”

Dailana pouted, running one of her perfect fingernails up his chest and then to his hair, tugging at the end of his braid - a technique Zevran was _intimately_ familiar with.  “I’d rather talk about the skill of _your_ blade, Bannhammer.”  When no smile was forthcoming from her target, she suddenly got quite serious, even if she did elicit a little sigh of discontent.  “ _Fine._ ”  And, just like that, the cold, calculating Dailana that had been sneaking peeks into the world since Lothering - and who had managed to scare the ethics back into Bhelen - took another gander.  “Let me guess: there’s some, like, gnarly charlies that are just begging for the kill-me-nows, and _I_ need to totally take control or it won’t get done.”  She rolled her eyes, a finger seeking out her hair to twirl a lock of blond curls.  “Oh, and it’s probably, like, really bogus grody monsters, too.”  She looked at the ceiling, mien exasperated.  “Like, rotting corpses or something that would, like, _totally_ barf me out to the max.”  Her chin dropped, making her eyes meet his, even as all intelligence drained from her gaze.  “Did I, like, forget anything?”

Teagan - and pretty much everyone in the Chantry except Morrigan, who only looked thoughtful - were staring at her in shock.  “Um... yes?” the Bann said, obviously unsure how to deal with their lovely leader.  _Interesting,_ Zevran mused.  _Is she so very different than before?_

With an eloquent shrug, Dailana took out a blade, ostensibly to polish it. “Spill it.”

Teagan hastened to comply.

.~^~.

After a quick education on how to get Fereldan noblemen to talk about _everything_ they knew, Dailana led her party back outside.  For a few moments she simply stood on the small raised platform outside the Chantry and looked up at the sky, twirling a finger through her hair, eyes apparently empty of thought.  The men who were practicing their archery - poorly, it must be noted - grew even more ragged the more they tried to not look at her, and finally Zevran took it upon himself - since it was obvious Alistair wanted to avoid more friction with her at the moment - to approach and hesitantly touch her elbow.

“I wonder where he is, ya know?” Dailana said quietly.  Her cerulean gaze turned to him, and he suddenly felt trapped in deep blue pools of sorrow.  “I need to believe he’s, like, _somewhere_ , and not...”  Trailing away, her eyes moved to look away from the Chantry once more. Zevran realized she was looking at the windmill on the hill above and wondered at the significance of such a device.  Her lips moved silently, as if in a prayer, though he was able to make out a name oft muttered in her sleep: _Fergus._

_Who are you, my deadly sex goddess?_ he wondered. __

And then she was moving away, forcing him and the others to scramble to keep up with her as she made a beeline for the man with the droopy mustache that watched the militia with a grumpy frown.  As she came to a halt before him, he glanced at her and grunted.  “So you’re the lass Bann Teagan put in charge.  Mind if I ask what makes you so special that we should follow your orders?”

With a brilliant smile and a small shrug, Dailana’s hand moved to the small dagger she kept hidden... _somewhere_ in her rather skimpy armor, and, a flash of metal later, the man’s amusing mustache was... even more amusing.

Slightly trembling fingers reached up and examined his new facial fashion hesitantly.  After a few seconds, he cleared his throat and said, “I see.”  Straightening in place, he nodded his head in respect and said, “Name’s Murdock.  Persuasive lass like you should come in handy.  Maybe you could start with Owen,” he said, gesturing towards the closed door behind him.  “He’s the local blacksmith.  Our boys need their armor repaired, and--”

“What _ever!”_ Dailana interrupted with a flick of her dagger before putting it back in her sheath.  “My poor little Prince of Hotness, like, keeps stretching his _fauld_ , so that _totally_ needs some repair.”  Zevran saw Alistair blink, then flush as he unconsciously reached down and adjusted the part of armor in question - or perhaps what lay underneath it.

With a grunt of exasperation, Murdock tried to add, “The stubborn fool refuses to even talk.  If--”  He trailed off and turned to watch as Dailana moved past him - Dog never far behind - and went to the blacksmith’s door, pounding on it solidly.  “She... doesn’t hang about, does she?”

Zevran chuckled as he moved to join his lover.  “No, that she does not.”  He paused as he passed by Alistair.  “Why don’t you and Sten stay here and try to, ah, instruct our poor local militia in the finer arts of distinguishing the hilt from the blade?”

Sten grunted.  “And why should I follow your orders, _Talis_?”

“Because he’s right,” Alistair said in a resigned tone of voice, looking at the ‘militia’.  “Look, that one just cut himself.”  As they all looked to the ragged men, the door to the blacksmith opened and Dailana and dog slipped in, unnoticed.

“ _Parshaara._ ”  The giant rolled his shoulders and moved towards the men.  “If I must teach a man to be a man, so be it.”  Alistair followed quickly, fully aware of how intimidating the Qunari would be to the men of Redcliffe.

Turning to Leliana, Zevran continued, “And perhaps our lovely resident archer could help those poor benighted lads learn to aim a bit more effectively.”  He looked at the archers, wincing as one arrow missed a target completely and hit the unattended Chanter’s Board.

Her full lips pursed thoughtfully.  “That... is a good idea.”  She reached back and eased her longbow from its place, thoughtfully testing the string.  “I think I’d feel better during the battle if I didn’t have to worry about arrows from my own allies.”  With a decisive nod, she headed towards the men, face determined.

“Surely you don’t think to tell _me_ what to do?” Morrigan said in a disdainful tone.

“Ah, no, my magnificent mage of ice,” Zevran said, a touch hastily.  “I will leave that task to our lovely leader.”

“And what about me?” grunted an almost unfamiliar voice.  Zevran blinked and looked down at the disheveled red-bearded dwarf.  Since Orzammar, Oghren had spent most nights drinking himself to insensibility, and most days snapping at anyone who got close to him - except, oddly, Dailana herself.  “What am I, chopped liver?”

Zevran shrugged and took a step towards the blacksmith.  “Only if you choose to be, my short, smelly friend.  Come, let us see if she requires assis--”

At that moment, the door to the blacksmith opened, and Dailana emerged with an old, tired man, talking in quiet tones with him.  After a few moments of conversation, he embraced her tightly, which she readily returned, and then released her and waved at Murdock.  “Send in your blasted militia, you old grump!  There’s not much time left until the sun sets!”

The smug-looking Dailana stopped in front of the dumbfounded Murdock.  “Like, how about a _real_ challenge?  All he needed was, like, a shoulder to cry on and someone who _cared._ ”  She rolled her eyes.  “Like, what _is_ it about the _men_ in this town not being able to, ya know, rise to the occasion?”  As Murdock’s face darkened at the overt and hidden insult, she waved dismissively and said, “Lay it on me, Mr. Short Mustache Man.  Is there any other, like, totally obvious problems you need my awesomely bodacious help with?  Or do I have to take down all the gnarly charlies myself while you hide behind, ya know, that bogus pushbroom on your lip?”  She shook her head in sympathy.  “You should really, like, get that fixed.  When the skank in the saloon has more bitchin’ lip foliage than you, it’s, like, _definitely_ time to improve the ride for the ladies, ya know?”

The ensuing stream of profanity was creative enough that Zevran wished he had some paper to take notes.  With a bland look on her face, Dailana turned from the mayor and led the way up to the windmill, where the Bann had indicated Ser Perth was in need of some assistance as well.  Morrigan’s laughter had, for the most part, faded away by the time they reached the top of the hill, and Oghren was tentatively feeling at the tips of his own bright red hangers, looking speculatively at Dailana as he did so.  As the blonde woman approached the knight who bowed ever so properly at her approach, the dwarf said quietly to Zevran, “So, do ya think she’d, uh, you know...”  He drew a finger across his own upper lip with a look of almost _fear_. 

“Only if you get on her bad side.”  He glanced at Dailana, the knight in front of her completely captivated by her winning smile, empty eyes, and low cleavage.  “Perhaps you could... get rid of that fish and use soap once in a while?  That may put you in her good graces.”  He sniffed pointedly and rubbed at his nose.  “For once.”

Oghren scowled, but felt the dangling bits of his mustache as one would fondle a lover.  “I’ll think about it,” he said gruffly, then stomped back down the hill, muttering to himself, as Dailana returned to Zevran’s side and stretched, catlike.  Taking advantage of the opportunity, he slipped an arm around her bare waist, again thanking the Maker that - as an elf - his head was at about chest height on a human woman.

“And what do you have planned next, my dear?” he asked with a raised brow.  She smiled at him, reaching over to gently trace the outline of his ear and then tug at his braid.  He closed his eyes for a moment and shivered.  “I do not think this is the best time,” he said, regret in his voice, and patted her on the rump before stepping back.  “Now, where to next?”

She pouted an instant before reaching up to flip her hair with a grin, mercurial in mood and intellect.  “Back to, like, gather the troops, _duh._   And, ya know, find some more.”  With a careless shrug, she headed to the village tavern after a farewell wave to Ser Perth.  “Come, my Assassin of Passion!”

Ignoring Morrigan’s sound of exasperation, he followed on her heels, grinning in anticipation.  Whatever else could be said about the Cousland of Retribution, _boring_ was never part of it.

.~^~.

In the next few hours, they did manage to scrounge up a few new recruits of varying quality and loyalty.  Dailana took one look at how Lloyd treated Bella and drafted him, allowing Morrigan to bully him down to the training area without remorse as the militia cheered her with their free pints of ale.  Berwick met a similar fate, as any mention of Arl Howe was pretty much a one-way ticket to getting in Dailana’s poor graces.  Zevran wondered what would have happened to _his_ mustache, had he sported any, then looked at his lover’s bleak face and decided that the elf wouldn’t have even left the tavern in one piece if the situation hadn’t so desperately needed trained bodies.

Leaving behind a cloud of growing inebriation and a new tavern owner - even if Bella didn’t realize it yet - Dailana made a sweep of the rest of the village, leaving an impression of a hurricane in those she left in her wake.  Dwyn’s thugs fell into line rather quickly once their boss was a head shorter, even helpfully providing the key to his chest of loot so that Dailana could bring the monstrous sword within back to Sten.  After leaving the newly christened ‘Blighter Fighter’ to demonstrate fighting techniques to the militia with his newly restored soul, they were waylaid by a girl in tears who begged them to find her little brother.  To Zevran’s surprise, Dailana immediately agreed, and off they went on this seemingly insignificant task, the oddity of their leader’s quick acquiescence only surpassed by the grimness of her expression.

Eventually they scared the boy out of a closet, and Zevran witnessed the beautiful moment when tears glistened on Dailana’s cheeks as she hugged the boy to herself, though Zevran could not escape the thought that another boy entirely was on her mind at that moment.  After giving a firm lecture to the boy’s sister about _a sister’s duty to her brother_ and shooing them to the back of the Chantry, Teagan pulled Dailana aside for a quiet conversation, during which Zevran again heard the name ‘Fergus’, accompanied by the name ‘Oren,’ to which she shook her head stiffly.  Again he watched another man embrace his lover, sighing inwardly, but then Dailana was off, leaving her momentary weakness behind even more assiduously than her companions.

It was only when they all stood in the darkness of the night at the top of the hill -  among the newly re-armed and re-armored militia and knights sporting freshly minted symbols of Andraste - that Zevran dared attempt a comment.  “Apparently we both carry more than our fair share of pain,” he said quietly, pitching his voice so that none would hear it save its intended target.

Cerulean eyes turned to regard him, reflecting the light of the fire of the barricades.  Even though the darkness made it a challenge to read her expression, he knew that his words had again brought out that oh-so-intriguing deadly goddess that he witnessed so sparingly before Redcliffe.  “Appearances are, like, _so_ deceiving, ya know?”  She sidled closer to him, leaning down to whisper in his ear.  “And you, like, know what else?”

He couldn’t help it - the combination of the hot breath on his ear and his intrigue made him lean even closer to her, despite the fact that around him people were pointing up the hill, muttering to each other and drawing their weapons.  “What?”

She slapped his ass soundly through his armor.  “Time to kick some gnarly charlie booty!”  Pulling her own blades forth, she gave a high ululating cry and dashed up to the edge of the fire barricade from which the first aflame skeletons were emerging.  As if her actions were the spark, everyone save the archers of the group moved forward, beginning the hours-long battle that would later be recorded in the annals of Redcliffe Village as the Victory of the Broken Fingernail.

.~^~.

Zevran fought to keep his eyes open during the short ceremony where they commemorated a small plaque to Lloyd to put in his tavern, as a dedication to the only life lost in the conflict of the night before. The portly barkeep had exceeded expectations and actually _killed_ an enemy but, in the end, had not been able to avoid the daggers of their foes... though, now that he fuzzily thought about it, Zevran hadn’t actually _seen_ any of the undead carrying any daggers.  Ignoring the nagging thought, unable to focus on _why_ that seemed odd in his current mental state, he opted instead to concentrate on _not yawning_ until Bann Teagan and Mother Hannah were done with the sorrow and thanks of the public ceremony.  _I cannot wait to get into a nice, warm bed after this,_ he mused, blinking rapidly to keep himself awake. 

The other members of their little band were not much better, exhibiting cuts and bruises too minor for Wynne to worry about and circles under their eyes.  Somehow only their lovely leader managed to look in any way alert, though she _had_ removed her grimy armor and put it into Owen’s safekeeping until he had time to clean and repair it.  In its place was a dress that Mother Hannah was sorely tempted to object to, save for the fact that, in the eyes of the villagers (even Murdock-of-the-Short-Stache), the blond Warden could do no wrong.  The fact that at least _part_ of her breasts were covered helped the Mother keep her observations to herself.

A ragged cheer went up which Zevran joined, though he hadn’t actually heard the speech that preceded it.  When he saw Dailana give Teagan a lusty kiss, though, he realized that he had presented her with the thanks of the village in the form of a helmet that - he knew just from _looking_ at it and Sten’s current armor - would end up on the Qunari’s head.  He suppressed a sigh of envy, fingering the light scar left over from an arrow wound in his ear due to his lover’s insistence that _both_ of his heads remain bare.

As people turned away, he realized belatedly that the ceremony was over.  He waited for Teagan or Dailana to call the Wardens’ party over, but no such summons came.  Instead, Dailana whispered into the Bann’s ear and, with a grin on his face, he put his arm around her waist and started to take her across the square, obviously heading towards one of the deserted houses.... and presumably the bed within.

He watched them with a frown, not precisely _jealous_ \- after all, he had no expectation of exclusivity in her choice of lovers, nor had she made any such demand of him - but still, it was... _odd_ to watch his lithesome lover wander off on someone else’s arm.  Turning away, he found Alistair’s eyes also on the pair, a look of confusion etched on his countenance.  _Ah, so that little crush still flutters within you, hmm?_   With a weary chuckle, he turned to the Chantry, hoping to find a pallet still available to sleep upon, when Leliana touched his arm. 

“She’s calling for you,” the bard said, nodding her head behind Zevran.

Zevran turned back to see Dailana enthusiastically gesturing him over, which was causing absolutely _fascinating_ things to happen to her bosom.  To spare Mother Hannah her approaching apoplexy, he hurried across the square to where the two humans stood.

“Yes, my dear?” he asked with an easy smile, no hint of the... all right, _jealousy_ he felt in his face or tone.  “Do you need me to go check in on Bella, perhaps?  After all, it was her boss that met his untimely end, yes?”

“What? Bee tee _em,_ no!”  Giggling, she leaned her head against Teagan’s shoulder, eyes still on Zevran.  “We just, like, thought you might want to, ya know, make the beast with three backs.”

Zevran blinked, then looked at the Bann.  The man’s frank gaze scrutinized Zevran from head to toe and back, lingering here and there in speculation.  “You look like a man eager to find a bed and get out of that dirty armor,” he said in a slightly husky voice.  “And I’m a little too tired to hammer quite as _robustly_ as I have in the past.  Dailana’s told me you are quite the talented... carpenter.”

“It is my preferred specialty, yes,” Zevran admitted, suddenly feeling his weariness retreat before a rising wave of heat.  “As is massage.  In fact, Dailana can attest that I am quite a master of the art.”

“She has,” the Bann said, the corner of his mouth turning upward.  “Interested?”

Breaking from the man’s compelling gaze, Zevran returned his attention to Dailana, who gave him a cheeky wink.  “Far be it from me to refuse the heroes of the day, yes?” he responded with a grin.

And although he did find a bed and get out of his dirty armor, for some reason he never quite found the opportunity to sleep.  Ah, well.

**Author's Note:**

> fauld - a piece of plate armor worn below a breastplate to protect the waist and hips and... other areas


End file.
